arnucc (ar-nuk) noun
Treasure room, particularly in a tomb.
***
The Belt of Temples was miles away from the last dune that separated Tomesh from the rest of its land. They were a collection of buttes, giant rocks stretching as high as the mountains. King Amatif chose his tomb to be at the back, standing alone near Pareysha, the village where Nascha lived.
She watched the king's servants carry the king's coffin, a large golden box carved with his name and story of birth, all in Tomera. One would think that as someone who carved the ruler's stories in the tomb's chambers, her family would be in the forefront of the crowd, but no.
Her father stood with her mother far, far away from the tomb while she stood with her two older sisters at the back. But at the very least, they were on the side of the aisle made for the king's last journey. The moon was bright, and the butte cast a shadow over them. The night was supposed to be cold, but the hundreds of torches spilled sweat down Nascha's temple.
She felt nothing as the coffin floated by, save for curiosity. One tiny corner of her mind wondered what a burned body looked like while the villagers around silently cried in mourning. The royal entourage was quite long. Priests, scholars, administrators. These people were dressed in gold and blue linens, their headdresses golden as the sun they worshiped in Kgosi. And as they all filed down toward the tomb, faces flat and stern, Nascha felt a sense of doom. She stole her sisters a look, both of whom were trying their best to look as stern as the entourage, their husbands doing the same from behind. Then she turned and found the other villagers wearing the same faces, although their eyes glimmered with tears.
She looked away, guilty for her lack of sympathy, for not having the ability to summon a tear. She swallowed and leaned over just a little to look down the path where the tomb was. Alika, the priestess, stood at the threshold, waiting for the coffin, probably wearing the same flat and stern look on her face, one she did not have to summon because she always looked flat and stern. Was the woman feeling excited? She had been trained to guard this tomb and the day had finally arrived for the start her long, boring life of waiting for the dead to come back to life.
"Nascha," her oldest sister, Breikh, murmured, pulling her back. "Stay still for once."
It was hard to do, even without her inner dilemma. She was always restless in moments like this. Rituals were never her thing. And the ritual had not yet even started. When would this entourage end? The queen's carriage tent had not yet even passed. Or that of the prince's. And they had been standing here for hours!
Again, she swallowed, her toes curling in her sandals. She had to find a way into the tomb. Just earlier, the villagers sent Karei to the house of the village chief on suspicion of witchcraft. Because of the ritual, they had to postpone her trial. Now, the woman was locked somewhere. And Nascha knew they would find her guilty and that they would send her out to die in the dunes. She knew because she told the story.
She looked up and instantly saw the golden carriage tent, its flaps drawn closed as it floated down the path, carried by four servants in kilt and blue headdresses. The queen. She also told this story—this exact moment. In fact, she carved it on the floors of the arnucc.
Nascha almost groaned when she saw the prince walking behind his mother's tent, face serious and unreadable, eyes looking straight ahead. He was tall, built just slightly imperfect than the statues that surrounded his own tomb in another butte not far from here. His hair was long, tied high and behind his long headdress. And beside him walked the pride of Tomesh himself: Kalesch Djozeh.
The son of Tomesh's Great Scholar; advisor to the future king of the empire. He walked past without taking his eyes from the head of the entourage. Or was he looking far ahead at the tomb—at the threshold where Alika stood waiting? Could he also feel the eyes of his own people following him, their pride as they watched him walk beside the prince and future king? He must be used to it by now, she thought. Ever since he was young, Kalesch, along with his family, knew he was destined for greatness.
She did not realize she was leaning over once again until she caught her father's gaze. His eyes were not reprimanding, which was odd. He was looking at her with a smile, even a look of wonder. She frowned and awkwardly straightened, leaning over to her sister, Hashek, to whisper, "Did Pahl drink something?"
"What do you mean?" Hashek murmured back, stealing their father a glance.
"He gave me the same look he threw the queen's carriage tent earlier."
Hashek snorted and immediately covered her mouth with her hand when Breikh threw them a look. It had only been a month ago when Hashek left home. After turning twenty-one, she finally joined her husband in his home. Breikh did the same eight rains ago, which was why their eldest must have forgotten how to have fun.
But whatever fun Nascha felt was immediately dispersed as the entourage finally ended and the ritual began. Suffering comes with chanting hundreds of Tomera prayers, she thought many hours later when the sun finally rose and settled over the Belt of Temples, moving the shadows slowly with its great, bright light.
And finally, the king's coffin was delivered inside. And men—the builders—pushed large slab of rock that perfectly fit the doorway. Nascha felt her stomach churn as she imagined the arnucc in the darkness, her writings still on the floor.
Many prayers and incense later, the king's treasures were carefully placed outside the threshold where they shall wait for others to arrive. By tradition, the king shall spend some time alone inside the tomb while neighboring nations came to pay their respects, carrying gifts—gold and silver, fine linens and preserved animals washed in gold. And the tomb shall be opened again so the king could welcome the gifts before it shall be closed for the last time until he returned from the land of the dead. So far, no tomb had been opened more than twice.
Her eyes stuck to the golden treasures. They would be her way into the tomb. She did not know yet how she would do it. Her plan was imperfect, but if her recollection was right, she had three months to stop everything horrifying that would follow the king's death.
***
Tia watched her two little sisters dozing off on top of the horses, their balance astounding as ever. She, however, was as still as the sands around them. The sun had just set, replaced by a starless sky. The dunes were quiet, but a gush of wind swept past them. She frowned. Rain was not due in Tomesh. It only came once at the end of each year.
Unlike Achnus, Tomesh was blessed with a vast land of golden sand and bright skies. And unlike Achnus, their rain, however scarce, was not black.
She looked behind her. Their caravan was small, but the gifts they brought along were priceless. Her mother, riding beside her, back straight and head held high, caught her looking and offered a reassuring smile. "Are you worried?"
"No," she said, looking away, back to her two sleeping sisters, thoughts on the other children in Achnus; and their mothers, their brothers, their fathers. Everyone who prayed for the success of the mission.
The mission of her brothers, she corrected silently. She, Tia Turvass, princess of Achnus, was only here to deliver the mission to them.
"We have to do our best, my daughter," her mother said, voice soft but determined. It felt strange to see her mother on a horse, much more so on such a dangerous journey. She would not have to do this if her husband was still alive. Her place was with their people, to be with them, to offer them her gentle, comforting presence, not here in Tomesh where the desert could swallow them and blow their traces away. "This may be our last chance to save our people." But Yrlissa Turvass was a queen and her people were her children. She was making a sacrifice.
Tia nodded. Yes, they had to do their best. She had to do her part.
But the voices in her head were telling different things. One was afraid, the other mocking. She shut them off because in this journey, she was in command.
***
Nascha would not have felt anything if anyone dragged her home. Her legs were dead after kneeling and standing for hours, her mouth dry from murmuring Tomesh prayers for the king.
Her sisters had already gone home with their husbands, and she was left with her parents. Her mother, of course, went off with her friends to see to Karei, the woman accused of witchcraft. She should be with them to plead for the woman's case, perhaps even confess that it was all her fault. But what would she tell them? That she just told the story, and it came true? They would not believe that. They would think she saw the future, that she was the much awaited Oracle. But they would not think that either. She, Nascha, the daydreamer daughter of Kam Yakine, the girl who always found ways to escape to somewhere to do nothing could not be the next Oracle.
If she was lucky, they would only think she was making up stories again. Or that she was crazy.
"Hurry," her father said, taking her by the arm, gently urging her down the path that did not lead to their house. "Before the rain arrives."
"Pahl, I can't feel my legs," she said, tired, mind drifting to her mother, Karei, her guilt, the king and the tomb... the arnucc and the stories she carved there. "Wait—What rain?" she asked, looking at her father.
He looked more determined than before they started the ritual earlier. His eyes glimmered. He was excited. Then she saw the road, and she knew where they were headed. It only led to that one house. "This is the way to the House of Djozeh."
He did not answer and Nascha panicked. "Pahl, I'm sure they are busy people. We can return tomorrow."
"No, it has to be tonight," her father said, walking briskly. She stumbled on her feet because she could not feel them. But as she tried to catch up, she managed to reassure herself. She could not feel any worse than she already was so she might as well humor her father.
But moments later, while she was still catching her breath, she had to hold it again. Her father, her very dear father who was also a dreamer in one way or another, breathlessly asked for the audience of Kairo Djozeh, the Great Scholar of Tomesh, and his son, Kalesch Djozeh, who was also unfortunately home.
Both men, still in their ritual headdresses of blue and gold, looked slightly scandalized as they stood facing Nascha and her father. She could not meet their gaze, so she just bent her head. But then her father took out a piece of paper and it passed Nascha's vision as he handed it over to Kalesch. While her eyes told her brain what they saw, her father announced, "My daughter may be the Oracle."
Nascha's head snapped and with her wide brown eyes, she gaped at her father in disbelief. He sounded hopeful—looked hopeful. No... he looked desperate for it to be true. Then she looked at the paper in Kalesch's hand. And then at him as he read, his thick dark brows fused in incredulous confusion as he did so.
And he froze, as did his father and Nascha and her father. Outside the House of Djozeh, a very distinct sound slowly grew. White noise that disrupted the silent, mournful air of the desert.
Rain.
Nascha's eyes flickered back to the paper in Kalesch's hand where she had written, as she remembered, that the rain would come early to mourn the king's death.
Kairo Djozeh was looking at her as if she was water sprouting out of the sands. "You were right, Kairo Djozeh," her father said with a proud smile. "The next Oracle is in the Yakine family." People were outside now, shouting in wonder as the rain surged on and on, falling harder like it did last year. While Kairo Djozeh's gaze flickered to the closed door with awe, his son tore his gaze from the paper to look at Nascha with a bewildered frown.
Her father caught the look, and he said, "She knew it would rain today. She wrote it there, just as she wrote the king's death." A short pause. "Your rayeshka is the Oracle, Kalesch."
Nascha flinched at the two words: rayeshka and oracle. She swallowed, speechless, then forced herself to meet her husband's eyes. He did not look so pleased.